


Nightmares

by gabrielstolethetardis



Series: Destiel One-Shots [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Mark of Cain, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielstolethetardis/pseuds/gabrielstolethetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being plagued by nightmares, Dean and Cas have a much-needed conversation about reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

Dean woke in the middle of the night, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. Breathing heavily, he glanced to the side where Sam slept peacefully, free of nightmares—unlike Dean

Of course, Sam hadn’t been the one to receive the Mark of Cain, die, and become reincarnated as a Knight of Hell.

Yes, Sam had cured Dean. Yes, Dean was hunting again, taking on monsters and demons and other things that went _bump_ in the night. Yes, he told Sam he felt fine and that the best thing for him was just to keep going; hunting had always provided the two of them with solace, an escape from the complications of the angels and demons.

But no. Dean was not okay. He would awaken to a dark motel room, fumbling around him with shaking hands for an enemy that didn’t exist. He would find himself thumbing the mark absentmindedly, skimming his fingers along the raised portion of skin repeatedly until he realized his actions and clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides, fingernails digging into his fleshy palms. He feared the day that Crowley would return and drag him away again into more ‘adventures’ and ‘fun’, even though he tried time and time again to convince himself that the King of Hell had much more pressing matters to worry about than him.

Most of all, he feared deserting Sam again. Looking at his brother now, his face soft and unlined in sleep—the only time at this point when Sam looked serene—Dean felt his stomach twist sharply. Knowing sleep was out the question for the rest of the night—the dreams would simply return with more force and intensity—Dean threw on his leather jacket and slipped out of the motel, the crisp Montana air hitting his face and making his cheeks tingle.

Dean somehow made his way to a park—Harrison Memorial, according to a wide, half-rotten wooden sign—and settled himself on a bench overlooking a small, winding creek. He tilted his head back and took in the stars, glittering above like pinpricks in the fabric of the universe, letting a little bit of heaven shine down onto earth.

“Dean.”

Dean startled so badly he almost fell off the bench. More than slightly embarrassed at his jumpiness, his voice took on a cutting edge as he said, “What the hell, Cas?”

The black-haired, newly-revived angel had alit on the bench next to Dean, his sleeve brushing up against Dean’s, and now his lip curled into a small pout. “I sensed that you were awake, and I thought I’d check on you and your brother.”

Still a bit surly, Dean bit back, “Sam and I don’t need you to babysit us.”

Cas’s big blue eyes flooded with hurt, and Dean instantly felt remorse wash over him. “I am sorry, Dean.” After a brief pause, he placed a tentative hand on Dean’s arm. Despite the cold, that spot felt suddenly warm, like a raging fire that burned through Dean’s entire bicep. “I was just worried about you.” He stood, removing his hand, and Dean’s arm suddenly felt barrenly empty.

“Wait—“ Dean protested, guilt racking him violently, and he reached out towards Cas—partly to stop him and partly so he could restore that heat, wondering what had caused it in the first place. His fingers connected with Cas’s arm, and suddenly, the two of them appeared in a low-lit room, Dean’s head reeling from the abrupt change in location. As the rustle of feathers dissipated, Cas spun around and stared at Dean, his blue eyes widening.

“Nice room,” Dean remarked, settling into his familiar ease. He scanned the area quickly—a motel room, adorned with dark reds and grays, ornate curls and patterns everywhere. “I thought you didn’t sleep.”

“I don’t.” Cas ran a hand over the wooden nightstand as if brushing off miniscule specks of dust. “I’ve stationed myself here, examining the problem in heaven from afar. After Hannah, I decided to distance myself from other angels for a while.”

 _Right. Hannah_. Dean felt a stab of something deep in his chest. “Right. Well, I wouldn’t want to bother you, so if you don’t mind telling me where we are, I’m going to get going home before Sam wakes up and freaks out because I’m AWOL.”

“Let me take you,” Cas offered, extending his hand to Dean, but Dean pushed it away.

“Look, I’m fine, okay, Cas?” he snapped, knowing the words were lies but saying them anyway like he had to Sam so many times. “I know things have been tough, but I’m back on my feet. Everything’s freaking _great_.”

Cas held Dean’s eyes for so long, it felt as if the two of them were melting together into one sentient being. “Don’t lie to me, Dean,” he said finally, breaking the trance, and in one step Cas moved to stand directly in front of Dean, placing his hand on the other man’s chest. Dean felt the fire begin to spread again, this time much hotter and fiercer than a simple touch to the arm, and his jaw twitched. “You’re still healing; I can feel it.” Dean expected Cas to take his hand away, but it stubbornly remained, Dean’s heart beating faster and faster against the angel’s touch. Cas’s eyes narrowed. “Your heartbeat has increased drastically. Perhaps I should—“

Cas reached his other hand towards Dean, and without thinking, Dean caught it midway. He felt Cas’s fingers, rough and calloused, rub against his, and his heart skipped a few beats. Cas must have felt the change because he glanced at his hand briefly before locking eyes with Dean again, frowning slightly.

Through the connection, Dean saw everything. He saw Cas’s pain, so carefully hidden: the anguish of not knowing whether or not Dean was alive or dead, demon or human, so carefully concealed in the presence of him and his brother. He saw Cas’s reluctance to take on the responsibility in heaven he seemed to know he had to assume. He saw Cas’s deeply-rooted concern for him, stemming back to that first moment in the monster-proofed garage with Bobby when Cas had appeared in a blaze of sparks, insisting that he had raised Dean from Hell on God’s command. That concern had transformed over the years, waxing and waning with each new challenge, and now it shone through Cas’s eyes into Dean’s with a fierce intensity that kept Dean rooted to the spot, attached to Cas by an invisible tether.

And then, inappropriately, Dean flashed back on his and Sam’s last case, with the musical, the pagan goddess, all the whack-job things he and Sam had seen and said there—and Destiel. Those two kids, one dressed as Cas, the other as himself, living such an innocent life together compared to the one Cas and Dean—the _real_ Cas and Dean—shared. Here, with Cas standing in front of him, their gazes and hands still interlocked, time seemingly suspended, Dean longed for that connection. His eyes filled to the brim with emotion, and Cas cocked his head slightly, analyzing the change in Dean, his face softening.

“I think,” Cas said slowly, innocently, in the way that he always did, “that your increased heartbeat has nothing to do with your recovery.”

Dean laughed, and for a moment, it was just like those kids—two people laughing and holding hands together, nothing holding them back from taking the world for their own. _Holding hands._ Dean knew he should let go, but he couldn’t—not yet. “You think?”

And then, a sort of bravery grew inside Dean—not like the courage he had when fighting monsters, conquering angels and demons, and saving the world, but a different kind, one that inspired him to remove the personal space between him and Cas inch by agonizing inch. The closer he got, the more he could feel Cas’s breath tickling the light stubble on his chin, and the slowness became too much for Dean.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grunted, and before Cas could comment, Dean did the thing he never thought he would do: he completed the connection.

Cas’s lips felt soft and pliable under Dean’s, opening slightly as Cas sucked in a small, surprised breath. For the briefest of moments, the two of them simply stood there, connected by their mouths and the tips of their fingers, the world silent and still around them.

Then, as if awakened from a dream, Cas sank into Dean, curling his fingers around the hunter’s, and Dean took control, moving Cas’s pale lips with his own. The movement felt so natural, like everything that had ever happened in either of their lives had led up to this moment and now that it had arrived, nothing could stand in their way. Movements became more intense; for an angel who could count the number of kisses he’d experienced in his whole lifetime on one hand, Cas was an _excellent_ kisser, gliding with Dean’s lips like they’d done it time and time and time before. When Dean bit down on Cas’s lip hungrily, Cas gasped, and Dean took the opportunity to slide his tongue into Cas’s mouth, tasting the sweet tang of him. Cas moaned and gripped tighter to Dean’s fingers, his other hand reaching around Dean’s head and grasping the fine hairs at the base of his neck.

“Oh,” Dean said, his lips brushing against Cas’s as he smiled. “You like that?”

“Yes,” Cas stammered, his voice shaking like a child’s, and Dean pulled Cas in closer. Every part of him burned; the fire of lust raged through all of Dean’s nerves, consuming him. The backs of Dean’s knees knocked against the edge of a bed—probably adorned in a red-and-gray decorative comforter, but Dean was too busy to take time to admire the décor. Instead, he tugged Cas onto the bed with him, the springs remaining blessedly silent as he locked his lips with the angel’s again, hovering over Cas, _straddling_ him.

Cas moaned again, louder, when Dean popped the buttons of his starched white dress shirt and ran his hands over Cas’s bare chest, feeling hard muscles beneath a thin, soft layer of fat that gave way slightly under the pressure of his fingers. “Dean, I—“ Cas attempted, cutting off when Dean smothered the his mouth with his, pulling off Cas’s trench coat, suit jacket, and white dress shirt and tossing them haphazardly over his head. Something shattered behind him; he didn’t care. All that mattered was Cas.

“Dean,” Cas said again once he got a chance, as Dean disengaged for a brief moment to remove his own shirt. He paused, the material halfway up his stomach, revealing a strip of lean, tan abdominal muscles, and watched as Cas gulped and continued, “What are we doing?”

Dean, still high off Cas, hardly flinched. “Well, we _were_ kissing, and we were _about_ to desecrate this bed.” He grinned at Cas, the elation buzzing through his brain at a million miles an hour.

“I mean,” Cas explained, struggling up into a half-sitting position that only brought him closer to Dean, “what about Sam? And heaven? And you?”

Dean scoffed, “What _about_ me?”

Cas was silent for a moment. “Well, you and Crowley…”

Dean’s face twisted into a grimace. “You don’t think that _he and I_ were fooling around together, do you? I would never _do_ that, Cas.” He was Cas’s. He had always been Cas’s.

“No,” Cas said slowly. “I heard… well, I mean, Sam said…” He swallowed heavily. “You slept with many… women.”

Dean blinked at Cas for a few moments, the angel’s eyes wide and oh-so-innocent. His previous ecstasy faded fast, replaced by a deeply seeded regret. “Cas,” Dean said softly, reaching forward and running his hand down Cas’s jawline. It felt soft and smooth—recently shaved—and Cas leaned into Dean’s caress, closing his eyes. “I was a _demon._ Yeah, I know that doesn’t change much, but I was. I made a lot of bad choices—with you, with Sam, with _sex_ —“

Cas flinched, and Dean backtracked. “Hey. Look at me, okay?”

Cas’s eyes flickered open and met Dean’s—still as intense as earlier but muted now, like a screen had been cast over them. “Yes. When I traveled with Crowley, I slept with many women—not one of my best moments. And yes, before that I had people too, but they don’t matter right now.” Dean leaned closer to Cas, blindly finding one of his hands and locking their fingers together tightly. “Right now, all that matters is _you_ , Cas.”

Cas bit his lip, and Dean marveled at how absolutely adorable and _human_ he looked. “But what happens when I don’t matter anymore?”

Dean’s heart began to ache with something deeper than he’d ever felt with Lisa or Jo or Cassie or Anna or _anybody_ before, and he couldn’t help but lean down and press a kiss to Cas’s lips, closing his eyes to keep in the emotions. “You will always matter,” Dean whispered, and in that moment, he was neither gruff, nor brave, nor tough. Then, because it didn’t feel like enough: “ _Always._ ”

“Always is a very long time, Dean,” Cas remarked, and Dean smiled against Cas’s lips.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

And Cas, bless his heart, smiled back and said, “Dean Winchester, the ultimate risk-taker.”

Dean cocked one eyebrow. “Are you complaining?” He ran one hand over Cas’s stomach, feeling the strange combination of ribs and muscle beneath his fingers.

Cas shivered. “No.”

Dean nipped at Cas’s lower lip, and Cas moaned. “Good.” This time, when Dean went to remove his shirt, Cas let him, and the rest of the world faded away as the two of them sank into oblivion.


End file.
